


Ceremonial Ties

by alternatealto



Category: House M.D.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternatealto/pseuds/alternatealto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson is the best man at House's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ceremonial Ties

Thank god, this was almost over. 

Wilson, having finished his part of the ceremony (not that there had been all that much to it), was able to relax a little now and actually take in some of the details of the room and the people around him.  House, of course, was his initial focus.  The oncologist suppressed a smile as he noticed that in spite of Wilson’s careful adjustments just moments before they’d entered the room, the bowtie of House’s tux was crooked again.  He’d protested mightily when Wilson had insisted he wear an actual tie instead of a clip-on, complaining that he didn’t want to be throttled at his own wedding.  Wilson had raised his eyebrows and refrained from comment, and House had scowled and let him finish tying the tie.  

This had been the second battle over correct wedding attire; the first had come when House had insisted on leaving off the cummerbund. (“The jacket’s buttoned, nobody can see if I’ve got a belt on or not.  Cummerbunds are stupid.”)  Wilson had prevailed in that one, too, and now he was standing next to the result:  a somewhat pale but sartorially irreproachable House, leaning just a little on a silver-handled ebony cane and repeating his vows in a soft but resolute tone. 

Wilson glanced past House to Cuddy, calm and almost regal in a simple but beautifully tailored dress of oystershell silk.  She was keeping her gaze steadily on the judge in his black robes, a personal friend of hers who looked over his reading glasses at the group in front of him with a kindly expression.  Wilson couldn’t help but wonder how many such ceremonies the judge had helped to officiate, and whether he enjoyed these occasions.  However unorthodox they might be, weddings were probably a welcome break from trials for assault, theft, murder, tax evasion and other crimes large and small.  Certainly they were at least positive events.  _Most of the time,_ he corrected himself, recalling a few weddings he’d attended that hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. 

There was a sudden silence in the room, and Wilson realized that House was glaring at him out of the corner of his eye.  “Ring, idiot,” he stage-whispered, and Wilson crimsoned, fumbling in his pocket and then turning in a panic to Chase, standing on his left, who produced the gold band with a smirk that was the equal to any House could produce.  

_Later for you,_ Wilson thought.  But he didn’t really have time to consider Chase any further; after all, he himself had nearly flubbed the most important part of the ceremony.  He looked apologetically past House for a second and felt a little better when he saw the slight upward quirk of Cuddy’s lips.  She really hadn’t expected much better of them, it seemed, even at a moment like this.  

He got his composure back, and reached out to House with the ring, swallowing hard as he watched it slide onto the finger that waited for it.  Then he held out his own left hand, and House took the matching band from Cuddy and slid it into place, his fingers lingering for a moment on Wilson’s, his eyes twinkling in a way that let Wilson know he’d never be able to live down that moment of inattention.  Then the two of them turned back to face the judge. 

“By the power invested in me by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I now pronounce you married,” the judge said, closing the book he held and smiling broadly.  “Congratulations to you both.” 

_We did it,_ Wilson thought, stunned.  _My god, we actually did it._  It was the last coherent thought he had for a few moments, as House promptly grabbed him and proceeded to bend him over backwards to kiss him, refusing to let go until Wilson managed to shift enough to step on the other man’s foot.  He was released then, but his flustered annoyance wasn’t helped by seeing Foreman and Taub both with cameras and wide grins. 

“House –” he began, but then stopped, shaking his head with affectionate exasperation. _Why bother?  House is always going to be House._

“Come on,” his new husband said, turning away, “There’s champagne and cake over there, and I can’t wait to smear icing all over your face.” 

_Not if I get to it first,_ Wilson thought, and lengthened his stride to catch up.

 

 


End file.
